His composure irritated Kate: "You are very much mistaken," she declared with spirit in her words, for she saw—indeed knew—how persistent he was. "I was only trying to leave for home quietly and quickly."
His eyes were a study in silent laughter: "That's all I've ever claimed to be doing, any time in my life."
"But I can just as well leave by the front door—which, perhaps," retorted Kate, "you haven't always been able to do."
"Before you go"—he was standing directly in the archway, so she had to listen—"tell me about things at the Junction; I hear the lunch room was closed up a while ago."
"It was. But"—Kate thought the time for explanation had come—"I was not working at the eating-house when you came in there. I am Kate Doubleday and I wanted to save my father that day and I'm not a bit sorry for it."
"I suppose, then, I ought to speak out, too. I was sure you were Kate Doubleday soon after I got into the lunch-room that day and I'm not a bit sorry for it. And I knew pretty soon you were trying to save your father. And I helped you."
"Oh—" Kate suppressed an incredulous exclamation.
"Believe it or not as you like, I helped you. And I'm not a bit sorry for it. Though he is no friend of mine, you have been, from that day on; and if you ever give me a chance I'll prove it. The worst thing you did was to go back on your word——"
"My word was not freely given," Kate was speaking furiously.
"It shouldn't have been given at all, then. But it's all right. Will you be friends with me?"